


Parting

by AceQueenKing



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Minor Character Death: Desolas Arterius, Post-Evolution, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8710645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Saren Arterius deals with the immediate aftermath of his brother’s death.





	

He could not say the exactmoment the spirit of his brother began to haunt him, but he felt the weight upon him instantly from the moment that he’d ordered his brother’s murder.

“Hold the connection,” he’d barked, to some terrified ensign or another, as he watched the missiles that he had ordered bomb the ruined remains of the old Palaven temple. He watched until the image of Desolas fractured and burned, until the equipment itself winked out in unblinking, white space.

“Switch to the long-range sensors.” Saren Arterius kept his arms folded lest they shake, kept his eyes glued to the equipment in front of him lest he falter. He could not fail in his mission, no matter how much his heart heaved in his chest.

Abrudas stared at him, her mouth slightly askew, and he felt the weight of his guilt settle deep in his chest.

He continued watching; the long-range cameras on the drones confirmed his solution had been a success. Temple palaven burned. He could not tear his eyes way. He owed Desolas the duty to see his last mission through.

One of the ensigns touched his arm, said something. The words sounded like little more than static. Saren jerked away and ignored it; they were distractions. He could not afford them; Desolas had been distracted by the monolith and he had died for it. _Was_ dying for it. Had he granted him a quick death? Saren did not know. Was his brother burning now, his claws desperately trying to open a door that could never be reopened?

His knees shook. He wanted to sit down, put his head in his hands. But Desolas would never have approved.

The ensign grabbed his arm again; this time he turned toward the man, prepared to smack him. He had warned him once; he would not warn him again.

The ensign’s hands curled around his. “ _No life signs_ ,” he muttered, and Saren Arterius took a long and deep breath.

It was over. His brother was gone. Dead. There would be things to be done. The homeworld would have to be contacted; a new general would be appointed. He would have to execute his brother’s estate. All the rituals, all the responsibilities of House Arterius – they would now fall to him.

He felt a weight on his shoulder, its grip hard and merciless, and he swallowed. He could not understand it. It felt as if someone was dragging him down. Had his brother come to drag him to the spirit world? They had always been as one. Perhaps it would be a mercy.

“You’ve killed him.” Lieutenant Abrudas said as she came over; she put a hand on his shoulder in comfort, but her voice was hard.

“It was necessary.” He brushed her arm off – he would not bow to her, he would bow to Desolas but never to this _whelp_  who thought to stand in his place. He had taken no pleasure in his brother’s demise and he would not have it insinuated that he had. “The mission had been compromised.”  
  
“He’s _dead_.” Her sub-vocals were full of fury and rage, but he could not bring himself to care about it. Abrudas was a competent soldier, but exhausting at the best of times, and there had never been a worse one.

“Yes.” He said, his own sub-vocals carefully masked. He walked away from her, putting space between them. The ensigns stared; he did not bother to give them his attention.

“You _bastard_.” She shook her head, her mandibles fluttering so loudly he could heard it. “You’re no better than the colors you wear.”

He felt his talons form into a fist but did not raise it. He had been called barefaced often enough to take one more oblique insult.

“I have done what you could not.” He said. “Do not misunderstand _your_ failures as _my_ guilt.”  
  
“I’ll see you hang, Arterius,” she said, voice all vengeance and fire, and he nodded, too exhausted to care.

She didn’t stop him from leaving the bridge. He walked down the steps  toward the sleep quarters, his feet heavy. _Dead_ , he thought. _Dead._

The only Arterius now. It felt impossible, his brother there only yesterday but not now, not tomorrow, not ever again. He laid down in his thin cot, eyes blinking furiously.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, the hand’s weight achingly familiar; when he turned, there was no one there, but the heaviness remained.

“Desolas?”

He waited, fearful. He had heard stories of spirits that did not rest, and knew that this had been his doing. Desolas could not rest. His brother would not know peace, and it had been because of his decision. Shameful. It was a good thing he did not have the marks, for failing Desolas was an act worth stripping them.

There was no answer.

He closed his eyes and wondered, briefly, what would happen now. Certainly he would have to transfer; Abrudas may not see him hung, but she would see him gone. It was likely he would be placed with the  _kabalim now –_ certainly word of how he’d tried to save Desolas would spread; he had been a mixture of foolish desperation and furious biotic pulls. Abrudas would seize upon it. He had been careful for many years to hide his biotic talents – now his military career would be gone, no doubt. Another of Palaven’s sons stuck in the cabals _._ It was a dead end; Palaven had never promoted a biotic out of them and he knew himself well enough to know he would not smash that barrier.

He would never be a general.

Another way his brother’s legacy was tarnished. A part of him did not wish to go on, but he could not simply throw away his life. He was the last Arterius now – and he had an obligation to live, to carry on Desolas’ work though Desolas himself was gone. He would not be able to make his brother proud by gaining promotions through the ranks, but perhaps he could at least protect Palaven in his own way. She still had many enemies, not least of them Harper.

“I will avenge you,” he whispered, but the weight remained, the phantom hand uncomfortable around his neck. 


End file.
